


you may ask yourself

by littlelocaldreamer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Morning Sex, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22017172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelocaldreamer/pseuds/littlelocaldreamer
Summary: Patrick’s down, but never out.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	you may ask yourself

**Author's Note:**

> title by the talking heads

The season’s a runaway train on fire—they can’t do anything to stop it from crashing. 

Jeremy‘s under strict orders not to play them together no matter what they can produce and the front office is insistent they be traded before they even remotely act like they know one another in public. 

Patrick is better at hiding emotion than Jonny; they’ve had this talk so many times.

“You have to be better, less obvious,” Patrick will tell him, softening the blow with gentle kisses along Jonny’s cheeks, his jaw, the tip of his nose. 

“I just love you,” Jonny will murmur back, eyes wide and helpless. “I love you so much.”

Patrick will wrap his arms around him, squeeze as tightly as he can as he responds, “I love you, too. God—Jonny. You know that.”

But their game is suffering. Their hockey is in hell. There’s no end in sight to the inconsistency, the anxiety. They have to adjust, learn other players as well as they already know each other. 

Besides that all they can do is wait it out—see if the Hawks will loosen their chains and allow them back on the ice together. 

Until then—

Patrick jerks awake from an awful dream. The Hawks were playing on a ring of fire surrounded by the New Jersey Devils and oddly enough—the St. Louis Blues. Both teams were slinging taunts, throwing concession food and drinks at them. Dylan got knocked over, Corey’s helmet melted. Alex was barefoot and wearing a tattered suit scorched from top to bottom.

“Fix this!” Jeremy yelled from the bench, eyes wild as he clutched a broken clip board. 

Patrick kept skating round and round, barely avoiding being hit or attacked. He had no idea what to do, where to turn. He wasn’t the captain—he wasn’t meant for this.

But he couldn’t find Jonny. 

His heart raced as fast as his feet as he searched and kept coming up empty—every time. He screamed Jonny’s name and banged his stick and when he was finally about to give up he found him on the outside of the rink—

—in a Blues Jersey. Standing between O’Reilly and Pietrangelo. 

“You’re on your own,” he called out, frowning.

Panic bubbled in Patrick’s throat. “What? Jonny—no—“

Tarasenko waved him off with an ugly sneer, grabbing Jonny’s arm and pulling him back and away from the flames. 

Everyone on the ice was shouting or crying while all the players around them were laughing hysterically. 

Patrick couldn’t handle it, tears sprang to his eyes and then—

He woke up. 

His pulse is pounding, heart rabbiting against his rib cage. He’s sweating a little even though he only slept in blue briefs. 

He reaches out to the lump in bed next to him, shaking as he slides closer.

Jonny’s naked. Patrick sneaks a hand slowly down his back, a gentle touch to alert his subconscious.

“Baby,” he breathes, voice urgent and uneven. 

Jonny doesn’t stir, of course. Patrick’s the light sleeper between them and it used to drive him crazy, in the beginning, when there would be drunk neighbors down the hallway or a jarring crack of thunder and Jonny would sleep right through it—his world spinning the same as always.

Patrick doesn’t get jealous of it anymore. It means he gets to make their drinks and read his book in peace and quiet without being totally ambushed or pouted at in the morning. 

Because Jonny takes his time, and Patrick enjoys the space. 

And when they eventually come together, later in the morning or even sometimes early afternoon, it’s calm and comfortable and secure. 

Everything Patrick’s ever searched for, growing up with his family so far away and in a profession where being traded and uprooted was to be expected. 

“Jon,” he tries again, molding his body to Jonny’s warm, broad back.

They don’t end up in this position often, Patrick enjoying being the proud little spoon entirely too much; but sometimes Jonny really likes it.

He’ll never admit it, not even to Patrick, but sometimes he needs it. To be held. 

Patrick sneaks an arm under his neck, perching up behind him, desperate for comfort after such a terrible dream.

He presses his lips to Jonny’s ear, pulling on the lobe gently with his teeth.

“Jonny,” he whispers, “I need you.”

He rocks his body forward, wrapping his other arm around Jonny’s fit and firm middle. 

His hand trails along his chest, grabbing at a pec and squeezing down hard enough to elicit a quiet murmur. 

Despite his head being a total mess, Patrick’s body is really into the current situation. His cock twitches against Jonny’s bare, glorious ass and he has to stop himself from moaning aloud. 

If he lets go this soon it’ll all be over—on Jonny’s backside, specifically. 

Patrick moves his mouth from Jonny’s ear to his shoulder and bites down, hard enough to wake him, if the low grunt he lets out into the sheets is any indication.

“Pat?” He breathes, hoarse and low.

Patrick licks at the skin he bit, humming out an answer. 

Jonny leans into him, aligning their bodies completely from head to toe. Patrick’s hips arch forward as he tucks his smooth thighs underneath Jonny’s massive set, cozy and warm and free from any frightful leers or burning flames. 

Patrick grabs one of Jonny’s hands, intertwining their fingers.

“I had a nightmare,” he says, breath damp and hot against the nape of Jonny’s neck, “about the Devils—“

Jonny turns in his arms, noses at his cheek sleepy and slow. “Yeah?”

Patrick kisses the skin under his eye, keeping his own eyes closed. “It was the fucking worst, Jon. You—you—“

He can’t even say it, just buries his face in Jonny’s chest. 

“Oh babe,” Jonny murmurs, “c’mere—“

Patrick lets himself be repositioned under him, spreads his legs wide so their cocks line up nice and easy. 

Patrick shivers.

Jonny kisses his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. “Am I making it better?”

“Don’t coddle me,” Patrick huffs, but he’s a fake and they both know it. 

“Baby,” Jonny breathes, all gentle and sweet. “Tell me the rest, eh?”

Patrick pulls his plump bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head back and forth. “Can’t even say it.”

Jonny bends his head, brings his slightly chapped lips to the ultra-sensitive skin of Patrick’s neck. They’re on a holiday break for the next few days so he’s not worried about leaving marks. 

“Tell me,” Jonny urges, kisses light at first but growing increasingly wet the more squirmy Patrick gets. 

“Don’t think I can,” Patrick repeats, voice breathy. 

Jonny “mmms” and palms at his cock, big hand grounding right between where he throbs, before biting down. “Lift up.”

Patrick’s hips arch and Jonny’s heat momentarily leaves him as he leans back and pulls the briefs down and off, flinging them off somewhere on their bedroom floor. 

Patrick would chirp him about it; it’s almost too easy—but he doesn’t. Because Jonny also grabs the lube while he’s up and Patrick’s always loved his quick thinking. 

When Jonny’s slick hand wraps around his cock Patrick lets out a throaty moan, bending his knees and spreading his thighs even further apart. 

“Lemme make you feel better, Peeks.”

Patrick breathes out a sigh of relief, needing the distraction. “Jonny...”

One hand works him up and down while the other, also lubed, sneaks between his cheeks, teasing at his rim. 

“You want my fingers?” Jonny asks, thoughtful.

Sometimes Patrick can’t take a handjob and prostate stimulation at the same time—senses easily overwhelmed. But it’s a surefire way to make him come quick and if anything’s going to erase the bad taste of that dream it’s an orgasm.

“Please,” he begs, already panting for it. 

Jonny works one in, distracting from the breach by taking his other hand and rubbing the center of his palm over the flushed head of Patrick’s cock. 

His toes curl in the sheets as he whispers Jonny’s name again, squeezing his eyes shut as his body adjusts. 

Jonny leans over him now, large and strong and perfect. He keeps himself angled away from Patrick, selflessly focused.

They’ve been together a long time but before they got their feelings figured out Patrick slept with a lot of people. Mostly women—but the summer after Madison was a shitshow in more ways than one. 

He experienced a couple of ill-advised gay hookups in dingy bars and trashy house parties—always wasted, always pretending the man was someone else. 

Someone taller, broader, more Canadian. 

When Patrick finally acknowledged his feelings for Jonny they fucked without restraint for a week straight. Years of homoerotic repression boiling over into deeply satisfying sexual exploration. 

Which is all just to say that even before Patrick was Jonny’s and Jonny was Patrick’s—Patrick never had so attentive a lover in bed. 

Jonny brings him back into the moment with little sipping kisses, nothing more than quick presses of his lips along the bridge of Patrick’s nose. 

“You gonna talk?” He asks, sounding breathless. 

Patrick groans, flipping his head back against the pillow as Jonny adds a second finger—immediately curling up and almost coyly nudging his prostate.

“Goddamn Jon, warn a guy.”

Jonny laughs, soft and pleased. “You know I just wana get you there fast.”

He bends forward, kissing Patrick quick yet deep, licking his upper lip as he observes, “It seems like you really need it.”

Patrick whimpers, high and unashamed, as he nods. He bites his bottom lip, knowing it drives Jonny crazy, as he confesses, “It was bad.”

“Baby,” Jonny coos. 

Patrick’s tongue darts out, brief, only a tease—but Jonny’s eyes sharpen and his own tongue repeats the movement. 

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, thighs quivering, as Jonny’s fingers push particularly deep—directly nailing his spongy gland.

“Oh fuck, right there—“

“Yeah? That it?” Jonny mutters, smirking. 

Patrick bends a knee, hooking an arm underneath without Jonny even having to tell him so.

“Right there,” he breathes. 

Jonny takes Patrick’s cock in his mouth then, bending over all fluid and graceful after years of practice.

Patrick’s hips shoot up for a only a second before Jonny brings an arm across his navel, holding him down. 

“Please,” Patrick begs, already so close as Jonny adds a third, “please, Jonny—“

Jonny’s fingers narrow in, nailing his prostate as he takes Patrick’s cock deeper into his mouth, slowly easing it down the back of his throat with a series of loud, wet swallows.

“Oh shit, oh fuck—Jonny—“

Patrick wants to thrash around, let every emotion inside physically manifest itself; but Jonny doesn’t let him, instead tightening his hold across Patrick’s belly. There’s no relief. 

Patrick brings one hand down to Jonny’s hair while using his other to dig his fingers into the sensitive skin behind his knee. It helps calm him, even though he’s desperate for release. 

He cards his fingers through Jonny’s short brown cut, tasting the saliva on his bottom lip as he whispers, “Jonny, don’t tease.”

Jonny closes his eyes, gives the briefest hint of a nod, and proceeds to swallow down as much of Patrick as he can. Patrick feels his cock hit the back of Jonny’s throat but it’s still a surprise everytime.

“Fuck,” he cries out, wanting so badly to fuck his hips in.

Jonny’s more composed. His breathing is stable and measured. His shoulders are a little tense and there’s a crease in between his eyebrows as he hammers his fingers hard inside the tight clutch of Patrick’s hole but overall he looks thoroughly at peace. 

Patrick watches as his hips begin moving back and forth on the bed, like he’s close too. Just from this. And Patrick loves that.

“God, that’s it—gonna fuckin—come—“ his legs shake and he’s got a death grip on Jonny’s head—he’s so close, almost there—

Jonny shoves his fingers in and up—like he wants to literally lift Patrick up off the bed and Patrick’s vision momentarily clouds. 

He glances down, sluggish and sex weak, and Jonny’s eyes are glazed over, hazy. Like nothing in the world brings him greater pleasure than taking care of Patrick. 

Patrick’s fingers grasp the back of Jonny’s neck so hard it has to hurt—but all Jonny does is moan loudly, vibrations against Patrick’s swollen, steadily leaking cock enough for him to come with a short, happy noise. 

“Take it baby, please—“

The only complaint Patrick ever has about coming in Jonny’s mouth is that he’s so far away. Patrick absolutely loves the friction, craves the intimacy of Jonny taking him inside his body like that—but when he comes, his absolute favorite position is the one which will allow their mouths to connect. 

The warmth of it, the grounding security contrasted against whatever filthy act they’re committing together, always gets Patrick so hot. 

He’s always been a sexual person. He loves to fuck. He loves bare skin. He loves to be in charge but he loves to submit too. He loves pushing his fantasies and desires. 

Jonny has always been more private. Not necessarily with his body—he loves to show it off whenever the opportunity presents itself. But beyond that—when another person is involved—Jonny clamps up. 

For the longest time, throughout those first couple of years on the Hawks, Patrick assumed he was a major prude. 

Then they slept together.

Patrick knows that Jonny’s always been a fan of people underestimating him. They share that in common, funnily enough. But nothing prepared Patrick for that first drunken row in the sack. 

Jonny was so attentive, so sensual. His touches burned Patrick up, made him shake and moan and sweat. His words made Patrick blush, heated and overwhelmed and confused. But his mouth—

His mouth tore Patrick apart. 

No one kisses like Jonathan Toews. 

Deep, passionate, soul-crushing. 

Like he needs you to function, to breathe, to live. Like you’re his whole life. 

Patrick misses it as he comes all over his stomach—liquid hitting his skin in shivery good streaks.

Jonny releases his cock, licking some of his come up as he moves his mouth towards Patrick’s. 

“Yeah, come up here.”

Patrick makes little hurt sounds under his breath as he continues to come down, stretching his arms over his head and presenting himself to Jonny in a blatantly wanton position. 

He eyes Jonny’s flushed cock, mouth watering. 

Jonny leans into him; whispers, “Open.”

His voice is so fucked. God.

When he does, Patrick’s shocked by his own come. Jonny left some in his mouth, wanting to share.

He’s so obscene. 

Patrick loves him.

The swap leads to a deep, content kiss. Tender and aching—an exchange of love without words. This is the kind of kiss shared between equal partners, best friends, soulmates—

Jonny whines anxiously in his throat, using a combination of his own precome and Patrick’s slick to begin jerking himself off.

“Fuck, you’re nasty,” Patrick gasps when they finally break apart, swallowing a mixture of spit, sweat, and come. 

Jonny bites at his jaw, no heat and all play. “Yeah? You complaining?”

Patrick lifts up, slapping Jonny’s hand away and replacing it with his own. 

This way they can stay kissing and Patrick can give back what Jonny gave him.

Perfect.

“No,” he answers, nipping at Jonny’s lower lip, “I love it.”

“Love you,” Jonny replies, instantaneous. 

Patrick laughs, a sweet little shy thing. “Come on then, show me how much.”

Jonny moves his hands to Patrick’s shoulders, clinging tight as Patrick speeds up his movements over his cock. 

"Yeah?" Jonny breathes, swaying forward.

“Yeah. You gonna come for me?” Patrick asks, breathless.

Jonny tilts his head down, hiding his face in Patrick’s neck. He does that sometimes when he’s really close, trying to outlast his own body. But the sight of Patrick—the feel of his muscles, his calming, familiar smell—it always takes him down. 

Patrick knows. It’s the same for him. 

“Yeah,” Jonny repeats, nails digging in, hips grinding forward. “Make me, Peeks.”

Patrick lets go and falls back on the bed, the cool sheets soothing his heated skin. “Finish on my face—“

Jonny scrambles, eyes big and round, cheeks blotched like a little glass doll, and grabs hold of his dick, stripping it furiously while clumsily knee walking over Patrick’s chest. 

Patrick would laugh at his eagerness if this was more slowed down—one of their adventures where they take hours edging one another—but that’s not what this is. 

He closes his eyes and opens his mouth wide, pretty pink lips wet and waiting— ready to receive.

“Fuck,” Jonny gasps, “so perfect baby—“

Patrick’s face flames as his heart preens, praise caressing his insides so delicately. 

Even though he expects it it’s still a shock when the come splashes across his face in warm, small increments. 

Jonny takes a long time to come, sounding like a wounded animal the entire time, panting and crying out he milks his cock from bottom to top. 

“That’s it, babe. Let it out. Cover me in it.”

Patrick’s throat’s gone so dry again and when he wets his lips his tongue dabs a little bit of come.

“Shit—that’s so good.”

Patrick blinks an eye open, smirking and blushy. “Yeah?”

Jonny laughs, collapsing next to him on the bed and bringing their faces together so he can kiss the rest off. “Yeah.”

Patrick giggles and tries to shove him away. “You’re so gross, get outta here.”

Jonny pinches his side, fond in his voice as he admits, “Just admiring my handiwork.”

Patrick smiles and closes his eyes, just for a second. 

There’s a feeling of utter contentment in the air while Jonny gets up and goes to start the shower in the other room. 

Patrick rolls over towards the windows, burrowing in the sheets to get more comfortable. 

“Oh no, none of that.”

Patrick grunts, curling into a little ball.

“You’re covered in come, let’s go.”

The weight of one of his big, warm hands on his back has Pat sighing. “Carry me.”

Jonny snorts. “Only if you tell me about the dream.”

And Patrick—he nearly forgot. 

He shoots up, hair wild and dried flakey spots on his face, and turns to Jonny with an almost manic look. “You’re not gonna believe it.”

Jonny’s eyebrows shoot up, tone dry. “Try me.” He places his thumb on Patrick’s chin, affectionate as all hell. And Patrick—

He’s suddenly so happy.

He hates to ruin it, but Jonny’s been very patient and gave him syrupy kisses and a delicious orgasm and—

“Ugh, okay. Well. You were in a Blues Jersey and there was—“

Jonny gets off the bed in a flash, bare ass tantalizing and hypnotic as he heads back for the bathroom.

“Nope. Nevermind!”

Patrick bursts into laughter so hard his side aches by the time he joins Jonny in the shower. 

“Good thing it was only a dream, eh?” 

Jonny holds his hand out for Patrick to take as he climbs in beside him, pulling him into a hug once they’re both under the spray. 

“Good thing,” Jonny murmurs, wet lips pressed against his temple. 

Patrick takes a deep breath, humid air coating his throat. He admits, a little self-consciously, “In it—you left me on the ice. Told me I was on my own.”

Jonny makes a distressed noise, arms squeezing extra tight around him as he takes his mouth in the gentlest of kisses. 

When they break apart Jonny looks at him with dark, wet eyelashes. His gaze so sincere. “Never, Pat. We’re a team.”

Patrick remembers a moment from earlier as he looks up and smiles.

“Good...And by the way—I love you too. In case you were wondering.”

Jonny smiles back. “I wasn’t.”  


**Author's Note:**

> this season makes me anxious AF but 1988 *heart eyes* always calms me down. thank you for reading!
> 
> tumblr: littlelocaldreamer88 (let's be friends!)


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